


The unconventional set

by ShannonXL



Series: Shit My Sherlock Does [6]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cunnilingus, F/F, Fem!Sherlock, Female Sherlock Holmes, Lesbian Irene, Vignette, girl!sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 00:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2046471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShannonXL/pseuds/ShannonXL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Irene don't do things in order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The unconventional set

They have known one another three years before they have sex using their real names.

Everything is out of order. First comes love, then comes marriage... That is the general way if things. But Sherlock has a baby when she's seventeen, falls in love with Irene at twenty, and their wedding falls somewhere in between.

Their aliases fall like love words. Cecilia Payne. Charlotte Corday. Lise Meitner. Aline Bowden. Ride Sally Ride. Some of them are quips. (Most of them are quips). (All of them are quips). Natalia Romanova and Bucky Barnes learn to whistle in the dark in Boston. Sherlock doesn't understand most references, but that one makes sense to her, rolling off her tongue like sacred syllables tolling like bells scorching like thunder echoing like storm-tossed waves. Salty.

Irene arrives in the middle of the night, at a time that is closer to morning than midnight. She smiles. Her lips are pink and soft. Sherlock is not expecting her, she never is, but Irene is always welcome.

They tell the truth, together in the sheets. It takes some coaxing, so they begin with small, less consequential things. Once, when Sherlock was young, she found a dead snake in the garden and mummified it for her father, who was not amused. Irene once fucked the future king of England. Or, was it that she fucked the once-future king of England? Either way, the bed frame shattered underneath them, and Sherlock coos softly as fingers tickle her skin. Cup her breasts. “I once shattered an entire crystal set. There was gold leaf on all the edges,” Irene presses teeth against soft skin, edges against smooth glass. “They were cast after Marie Antoinette,” she whispers, her tongue fluttering past her lips. 

“What were?”

Irene quirks a brow.

“The glasses.”

Sherlock’s breath hitches.

“After all of her?”

Irene rubs her nose against Sherlock’s sternum.

“No.” She murmurs. “Just her breasts.”

Irene wants to discuss the letters after she arrives. She wants to know how Sherlock found her, managed to trespass against her fail safes and backups and “How on earth did you get him to cross the _moat_ Sherlock,” and it’s explained, the details of bribery and detection and it’s like a true crime thriller, only more mundane. The seductress and the hero don’t often chat by the smog-stained windows with stale coffee and a headache and cold takeout and soft blues on the radio. 

As she leaves, Sherlock will observe that they have contradictory souls, and Irene will not disagree. It will surprise her, though. Sherlock is not often moved to poetics. 

Sherlock’s mouth is occupied for much of the evening. Irene’s legs spread, her scent a balm (like musk and gentian) her flavor vulnerable (like clear sunshine and acid rain). Her sighs are perfect. Legs wrapped around shoulders, feet tensing and releasing as toes curl around the flick and titter of one acerbic tongue. 

Muddy Waters plays on the radio. 

Sherlock likes to be wrapped up in soft blankets. Irene likes to be wrapped up in Sherlock. The detective’s distinctly British complexion contrasts sharply with her surroundings. She’s made a business out of contrasting sharply with her surroundings, or at least, she’s made it her reputation to do so, with vigor. Irene will laugh in her rich voice, a sound grown deep in her chest and given air and sunlight for these brief flickers of time. She is dark and wonderful and full of kindness, and Sherlock Holmes will wonder what she did to deserve her.

Irene will wonder where Sherlock will find the courage to marry her. She wonders when she will have the strength to say yes. 

They part as they arrived, out of order and without a kiss. 


End file.
